Vampiress
by
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Sorry Joss Whedon, I ain't gonna say it's mine. And, I heard this somewhere: "Copyright infringement is the highest form of flattery." So, be flattered.
Author's Note: This contains female/female sexual situations. I will not respond to flames concerning this, so please, don't read it if you dislike this kind of situations.
Summary: One of my previous pieces of work, Child of Darkness, explored vampire love and sexuality. I enjoyed writing it, and decided to write this. Hope you like it!
Rating: R
My granddaughter's long silky black hair rubs against my cheek as she rubs he body along mine in a similar manner. She is tall enough, but not large, her bones are thin and appear delicate. Nothing is farther from the truth.
My hands run down her body, enjoying the soft curves. The fabric is rough in my hands, but the exposed skin of her collarbone and arms feels refreshingly cool and soft. Humans are too hot, they make me uncomfortable, like standing too long in front of a heater. But Drusilla is cold, and her skin does not move unattractively from the pumping of blood.
She has her human face on, and I tap her forehead, urging her to change. She complies, growing from a beautiful human girl into a demonic menace to all warm-blooded creatures of the earth. The dark, teasing eyes change into a bitter yellow glow, and the evil intent in them is quite clear.
Her teeth shift, from the strange blunt objects of an herbivore into the wonderful ugly fangs of our kind. I take a minute to admire them. Her middle teeth are pointed and sharp, but short. Her top canines though, are truly magnificent.
The symbol of a wicked huntress, Drusilla's teeth mark her more than anything as one of the feared ones. Mythology around the world has vampires looking many different ways, but the one thing that never changes is the fangs. Always, in lore or literature, a vampiress has fearful-looking fangs of one kind or another.
Her teeth are even more impressive than most, though. Long and curved, they are a feature admired among vampires as much as hair or skin or clothing is in the human world. Drusilla's are white and pointed, much longer than mine. Slightly pink from blood-staining, they show her age, as it takes many decades for the teeth of a vampiress to become colored.
I admire them for a long minute, taking in the shapely curves of her most extraordinary hunting tool. They are wide where they meet her pale gums, and thick. They curve inward as they come down, thinning in all directions before coming to a slightly hooked point. They are beautiful.
I reach up with a long fingernail and scrape at them a little. Unlike humans, Drusilla, and all vampires, has and have full sensation in her teeth, the covering not nerveless enamel but a kind of hard skin-like covering. She moans a little at my gentle caress, and pries my mouth open to do her own exploration.
Only, hers is with her tongue, rather than fingers.
She plunges her tongue deep into my mouth, swirling it around the caves of fangs, purposefully cutting it on one of her own. I pull her long, cold tongue into the back of my throat, sucking hard and feeling the salty blood pour out of it. Humans' mouths are very warm, a cavern of heat and steam. With no rushing blood to heat them, our mouths are cooler. They are often cold from breathing freezing air in the wintertime, too.
Drusilla's long nails scrape my skin as she trails down my outfit with her hands, what little there is of it. Her nails are painted blood red, as usual, and they are beautiful, but not merely decorative, as they might seem, on first glance.
She has a fixation with eyes, and has killed many a unloyal minion or enemy with the deadly points that adorn her hands. But as she runs them over my breasts, the only sensation I feel is a bad case of the shivers.
Technically, I am not lesbian. I would just as soon do this with a man. Or rather, a male vampire. But in vampires, sexuality is a relative term. Since we cannot reproduce, we feel no natural urge to seek out members of the opposite gender to have sexual relations with. However, having been human once, we still feel physical pleasure in the act. Therefore, almost all vamps are bi-sexual. Of course, you get the occasional hold-out, especially among the souled of our kind (can you see Angel with another guy? I know I can't.), but I'm not one of them. And clearly, Dru isn't either.
We moan and caress our way into the night, igniting fierce passion. In the morning, all evidence will be gone, both of us having gone our separate ways. But in our memories it will forever linger, one of the rare times that sex was for pleasure, rather than the seduction of an innocent victim.
I wonder how Drusilla feels, out of curiousity, rather than any real care for her well-being, of course. (Even if I did care, it's about 200 years too late for her mental health to recover.) She and I are vampiress, two of the most spectacular of the hunters of the night, and righteously proud. Yet, in the transformation of blood, we lost the human ability to love, something that is stronger than life itself.
More deadly, more passionate than any other emotion, there is no other like it. And maybe that is why we are demons. Because we can feel nothing caring towards another being once stripped of our soul.
I do not truly care how Drusilla feels. We had our romp, I am sated. But the memories of the human Darla, the one who did know how to love, will be with me always. For she is a part of me, and I a part of her. And those memories tell me that love is not to be taken lightly.
Even if I am a powerful and feared vampiress.
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